


Snag

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is grieving and one shirt unravels him. This is an alternate start to season nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snag

It started when Cas snagged his shirt.

The tear was an accident. When he opened a door, the button-gap in his sleeve caught the handle. He kept walking and the fabric ripped an inch. Another inch gave when he tried to pull himself free. Cas still wore it, followed the same routine as always. He wore his clothes for three days, then peeled them free, stood over the washing machine and stared until they were clean. He followed the same pattern with the dryer, and stepped back into them as soon as they were done.  There was never any chance of an iron. Even Dean had wiped down motel irons between hunts when the brothers were permanently on the road, but not Cas.

Cas wore his creases like he wore his scars. Dean, Sam and Kevin didn’t mention it. When Charlie visited, Sam took her to one side. They left Cas with the space to grieve. They didn’t mention his grease-matted hair or thickened sweat that covered his skin. No words passed Cas’ lips apart from a _good morning, good evening, good night_ and the only name he used was _Dean_. Sam watched and tried to engage him, but Cas only met his eyes for a moment before he nodded or shook his head and went back to his self-imposed exile.

Dean watched him, too. He noticed that the tear frayed with every new wash. The line reached halfway to Cas’ elbow, but still he washed it, still he wore it.

“You gonna scare some goats off a bridge there, Cas?”

Dean’s grin faded when Cas retorted with silence.

The second time that Dean tried to talk to him, he leaned on the dryer when Cas stared at the spinning drum.

“You not even using fabric softener? Man, we’re not animals.”

He hadn’t even looked up. There was nothing to do but give Cas more space, more time. So he did. Sam and Dean went out to hunt and Kevin’s panic attacks after his stint with Crowley began to calm. The brothers continued doing what they did best, and Dean teased Sam about losing his crown as the research king. They gave Kevin a purpose and Kevin was responding. Dean should have been pleased, but with every new smile that erupted from Kevin, he was reminded of the broken shadow down the hall.

When Kevin had the strength to leave the bunker for the first time in weeks, Sam went out with him. Dean nodded at Sam, knowing what he meant. There wouldn’t be any other distractions. The only noise would be the bunker’s plumbing and the buzz of electricity that pumped through the walls.

That, and the tumble of clothes.

Dean walked to the laundry and found Cas standing in front of the machine. He waited in the doorway, eyes averted as Cas unloaded the dryer and pulled up greyed boxer shorts. He bent over to tug on his socks, then black, clicked trousers.

As soon as he was half-decent, Dean cleared his throat. “Knock, knock.”

Cas’ shoulder’s squared, but he didn’t turn his head. He held up his shirt and his muscles tensed when he saw that the tear had grown again.

“Dude, it’s a shirt. Just throw it out. I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need a new shirt.”

Dean allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, well, you’re wearing Swiss cheese. You gotta get something that doesn’t make you look like something just dragged you home.”

Cas had squinted at him and walked back to his room, answering with the defined _click_ of his shut door. Dean followed. He didn’t bother to knock as he walked through the door.

“Personal space, Dean.”

“It’ll take a bit more than that, Cas. And you don’t get to say that.” He lost the grin as soon as Cas looked down. “What?”

“It… there was a…”

“Cas? Buddy?”

There was a sharp intake of breath and the voice came out battered. “There was a button, Dean. Now there’s… it’s gone.”

“So?”

The shirt fell from Cas’ grip to the floor, rumpled accusingly. Dean took a step forward and dipped his head a little. Cas crinkled his brow and stared at it. Tears filled his eyes, but he bit nails into his palms to try and force them back.

“Cas, I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s just a _shirt_.”

Cas either didn’t hear him, or chose not to.

Dean growled and grabbed his shoulders, pressing fingers hard into his bare skin. “Damnit, Cas! We’re doing everything we can, but you won’t even try!”

“Every time I try, I fail.”

“You fail by not trying.”

“I put you in danger, Dean! I allowed Metatron to trick me! And now…”

“Now what?”

He tipped up his jaw and dared Dean to test him. “You once said I was a baby in a trench coat.”

That stung. Dean grimaced and softened the hands on Cas’ shoulders. “Man, Cas, you’re not a baby.”

“I’m useless.”

“You’re not. You’re not. You’re messed up and you fucked up and everything’s all kinds of crazy, but we need you, Cas. _I_ need you.”

Cas shook his head.

“Don’t you go all Little Mermaid on me.” Dean paused, then took off his own plaid shirt, reaching around to wrap it over Cas’ shoulders. “You gonna stop whining now?”

“But… that’s yours.”

“Yeah, and? Just don’t go freaking out about it, okay?”

“Dean…”

“ _Damnit_ , Cas.”

Dean’s arms wrapped around him. He pulled Cas tight to his chest and burned as soon as he felt the wrack through Cas’ ribs. His murmur was enough to drag the buried sob from Cas’ lungs and he held him even closer. Cas shook his head again, but let his nose press to Dean’s shoulder. Dean rubbed a hand over his spine, repeated the quiet movement over and over until the chokes stopped.

“Dean, I—”

“It’s, you know, Cas, we’re—”

He stopped as soon as Cas pressed their mouths together. It was hard, desperate. Dean forgot himself, let teeth knock teeth and nip lips before their tongues slammed hard. His fingers dug back into Cas’ skin, and Cas dragged his hands down Dean’s chest. He fumbled with buttons and Dean only let go to help him.

What the fuck was Dean doing? What the fuck.

His only thoughts were _Cas, Cas, Cas_ and they tripped over each other to Cas’ single bed. Dean was on top, his knees found space on the mattress at the sides of Cas’ hips. They didn’t stop their kiss. Dean growled under his breath and their hands, oh, their hands raced and arms twisted to throw Dean’s shirt to the floor by Cas’ ruined one, to yank at trouser buttons and zips. Dean had to lean from side to side to shimmy out of his bottoms. While he moved, Cas began to pant and rolled up his hips to free himself, too.

_You’re not even gay, man. This is Cas._

But Dean found himself grinding against Cas’ groin and Cas pushing right back up. Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulders and kept him in place. They rocked just out of time and as their cocks rubbed over each other, they stiffened. Dean started to bead with pre-come and the movements slicked it between them. Cas’ groan was enough to make Dean shudder, and when it turned into Dean’s name, they paused.

The world stopped.

Dean’s chest clenched.

And Cas cupped Dean’s face in his hands.

The next kiss was slower. Deeper. They kept their teeth back and their tongues explored in gentle pushes, the rolls in their hips firm yet unhurried. Cas lowered his hands to slide to Dean’s ass and oh, his finger was already there, already circling. He lifted it again to Dean’s face, but this time Dean caught the tips in his mouth. He kissed them softly and Cas only pressed them against him until they found his tongue. Dean sucked two fingers in, and before he could think, he curled wetness around them, bobbed his head and grazed teeth over his knuckles.

Wet enough, Cas pushed those fingers against Dean’s hole and pushed inside. Dean had seen enough porn to relax his muscles, only clenching to draw them further in. He rasped. His eyes had closed before he even knew he had melted, but when they opened, the pain in Cas’ gaze had changed to wonder. Cas palmed up to Dean’s neck and kissed him again as his fingers worked at him. They curled and uncurled and Dean couldn’t think. The last time he had been played with like this, Rhonda Hurley had taken a pocket rocket and—

The fingers were gone.

“Cas—!”

But Cas grabbed Dean’s sides and shoved him down. Dean was pushed far enough to let his hole touch electricity to the tip of Cas’ cock, and if they could stop, maybe they would have, maybe they should have taken it slow, but no, Dean was flushed pink and Cas’ head burned into him. The thrust wrenched a cry from Dean’s throat, hard enough for him to yank backwards and impale himself further.

Mutters of needy Enochian and Cas raced his fingers up Dean’s bare chest, stroking over skin in awe. Those hands helped Dean to lean back, palms out on the mattress to keep himself upright. His arms began to shake, but yes, yes, Cas rocked up to slowly fill him. That tension, that tightness, it made Cas twitch inside him and Dean snarled at the brush of his prostate.

The rhythm was off. Cas thrust up and Dean bent his arms to lower down and they panted out of sync. Cas shifted his arms, one around Dean’s back and the other to dare and grasp Dean’s shaft. He didn’t even need to move that hand. As Dean fucked further down, a thrust back up meant another stroke, over and over again, harder and harder until they were slick with sweat and the air heavy with hot pants.

When Cas’ stomach and balls tightened, the rest of his body followed. He squeezed Dean’s cock and it drove him down _hard_. That was enough to send Cas past his line. He came with a gruff yelp and filled Dean up. One last thrust, then he was lost back to the bed, boneless. The only part of him still tense was his hand, and when the filthy, wet sound of his cock leaving Dean made him shudder, he forced himself on to stroke his hunter hard, fast, desperate and his fingers thrummed, his palm slippery with drips of pre-come. Yes. Yes. Dean came when he thrust raggedly into that grip, the shot aimed up to spatter his chest.

If he were more graceful, Dean would have gingerly lowered himself to the bed. He couldn’t. Instead, he was left to slide forwards, his head pressed against the hair of Cas’ chest. One he started to calm, he felt his come, sticky between them.

“I’ll, I’ll get you that shirt later, Cas.”

He didn’t see Cas smile, but he did hear _thank you_.


End file.
